


the water in which one drowns is always an ocean

by oncewewerezombies



Series: Miracrail Month [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternia-Focused, Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs, Lusii, Melancholy, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, References to Canon, parental abandonment, parental neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: Gamzee sits on a beach, alone.Oh, child of the moon, bid the sun ariseOh, child of the moonGive me a misty day, pearly gray, silver, silky facedWide-awake crescent-shaped smile-Troll Mozart
Relationships: Gamzee Makara & Karkat Vantas
Series: Miracrail Month [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1443997
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	the water in which one drowns is always an ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Coping/Resilience: (August 1-8) Both of them have been through a lot, and could surely use each other to get through it.

The night is cool and the moons shine above you, green and pink, casting their queer reflections on the dapples of the sea. You hug your knees to your chest, and watch the waves roll into the shore. Endless, ongoing. Even when other things in your life change, with you getting taller and such, your clothes stretching out so as to how they wouldn't fit you no more, with all these queer sensations running through your body and some kinda bass beat in the back of your skull murmuring death and murder, the ocean don't change. The sea is what it is. The moons are what they are, fair and remote.

And here you sit, ass cold on the wet sand and itchy up to your walking-frond hinge with drying seasalt and grit. Watching the sea, and watching the moons. Waiting. Like you've always been waiting, like your whole wigglerhood has been spent in a career of. Just waiting.

Watching the sea, watching the waves. Letting the sparkle of the moons dull you to what you are missing, what you were owed and never got.

You reach down to the sands, to the beach, and let a handful of it run through your grasper and back to it. Dripping through your fingers like time, something you ain't never been able to get a handle on either. At some point, you guess you'll have to at least pretend you're able to. But that time ain't yet. You're still just some dumb motherfucker sitting dreaming on the sands, and you're waiting like you've always waited. Alone, lonely. Sitting by yourself and gazing at the moons.

You're moonstruck, dumbstruck. You wonder if you're the only troll set by like this, alone without the guidance of your lusus through formative stages where they should be all and only to a troll. Instead you'd grown to be lonely, left staring at the remnants of foam on sand, on rolling waves. Empty, empty of a craning head, of looming horns that match yours in shape. All long and spiraled, atwist on the skull of your seagoat lusus. His horns are green at the base with algae, his fur smells like something dying and like salt. 

You miss him.

You hear footsteps scuffing on the sand behind you, the odd squeaky rasp when a walking frond falls in the right way on the looseness of it to make it firm beneath a sole. You don't turn, still watching the moons and the sea. All the inside of you is hollowed out with feeling, with wanting. 

"Hey." A warm hand falls onto your shoulder, squeezing gently as Karkat, your moirail, the only motherfucker as to give a shit about you and your foul and melancholy ways when you get like this. Sad and staring until your eyes go the colours of the moons and the oceans, something lucent and shimmering. Karkat grunts and squats next to you, his hand moving from your shoulder up along the line of your neck and into your hair. Strong, square grasperstubs rubbing gently to the base of your skull, and making your shoulders slump with something besides exhaustion. "He's not coming, you know that. Shit for brain clown."

Even despite the insult, the gruffness of Karkat's tone is but a caress. You snuffle in a breath, and are surprised to find salt on your cheeks as well as rolling in billows in front of you. You wipe at your face with a corner of your sleeve and sigh heavily.

"I know, but sometimes...I just want to check and see that he won't. Because maybe it'd be a miracle and he will, you know?" you muse, and lift your chin so you're looking out somewhere at the horizon. As though you wanting, you longing, could make that sleek yet craggy head appear. Heralded by the slice of flippers through surf, with your lusus coming _hive_ to you. Just for you. He'd been around when you'd been small, you can remember that dimly, but as you got older, once you had your legs rather than your grubspikes, he'd...drifted away.

You wonder always what you did wrong. What happened, so that your lusus acted the way he did. Karkat has told you often and over that you'd done nothing, could have done nothing, that your lusus was just a shitty excuse for a guardian and none of it was to do with you. But then, he'd picked you. Brought up out of the Caverns, and landed you here. Locked between sea and shore, always between, never quite neither. As he was. There has to be some meaning to it, you have to wonder what he'd seen in you as a grub that had made him bear you away. There had to have been a _reason_.

You reach around to take Karkat's other frond in yours, lacing your wiggledigits together and press a kiss to the back of his knuckles. A moment's what you need to pull yourself together, and get to your motherfucking stubs. Without him, you'd still be lost moonstruck and sitting in the sand with the waves coming up to lap at your ankles until the sun rose. With Karkat? Ah, then there's so much more you can do, and so much more you can be.

His fingers soothe through your wretched tangle of mane, and you rise to your feet. Your hand's still intertwined with his, even if it makes you twist unusual to keep your hand in his.

"You're so fucking dumb, Gamzee," he says, a little choke in his voice that makes your pusher bleed open with pity, just over the pity he feels for you. You don't deserve it. But he gives it to you from the fullness of his cardiopump, and there ain't nothing that would stop him. He's so soft on the inside, and for something as motherfucking worthless as you. "C'mon. Let's get inside."

"I'll make you some motherfucking pie or something, my invertebrother, my palest," you promise, and you switch hands so you can swing your grasp leisurely between you as you head back up the beach. Away from the tideline, from the waves still beating their slow rhythm as the moons start to sink. "Something tasty, ay?"

"Whatever, you fucker," your diamond grumbles, and you know his ire for affection. It makes you grin, and your pusher lift for a moment.

Without him, how could you bear how cold the world is? But with him, he's a fire that you can wrap yourself around. You're ice that he can dash himself against until he calms the fuck down. However it works, it does. You guess that's why it's as motherfucking serendipitous as any fucking tale in one of his romances. You both just meant for each other, and that's straight from your maw to Messiahs' auricular. And there ain't no other fucking way you'd have it.

Just what would you be without him? How far would you slide down into cold?

You don't want to think about it, and if there's anything you're good at it - it's not thinking about what you don't want to. With Karkat's hand hot in yours, you don't see a reason to think about what you would rather not. Your lusus didn't come to land tonight; and for once, you're ok with it.


End file.
